


If I Could Start Again, A Million Miles Away

by Velichorr



Category: Inglourious Basterds (2009)
Genre: Angst, Character Study, Gen, Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-08
Updated: 2020-09-08
Packaged: 2021-03-06 15:35:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,261
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26361268
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Velichorr/pseuds/Velichorr
Summary: Landa escapes to Nantucket and tries to start a new life there. After the war, he receives an unexpected visitor... Title from Hurt by Nine Inch Nails
Kudos: 28





	If I Could Start Again, A Million Miles Away

Hans Landa lay in the back of a US Army truck, drifting in and out of a fitful sleep. The smarting, lacerating, pain in his forehead was impossible to ignore. He had suffered worse pain, as a young officer in the Great War, but that didn’t make it any less humiliating. Internally, he was seething- but part of that anger was directed at himself. God, he had been so _foolish._ He had overplayed his hand. He had been too presumptuous in his assessment of Aldo Raine, a mistake he vowed to never make again.

He thought the stories of carved swastikas were about as real as the fairy tales told to frighten little children. He had been nothing but courteous and honorable to Raine, and assumed Raine would do the same for him. He was wrong on both counts. The American had killed his radio man and branded him with this…This mark of shame. Now he would be marked as a nazi wherever he went. Well, no matter. Hans had a plan for that. He always did. It would take a while for him to execute it, but he had a plan. He would have the last laugh in the end.

He smiled to himself at the thought. Then the whole truck shuddered violently as it drove over a rut in the road. Hans was pitched backwards in the darkness, shoved against the wall. He was in complete darkness thanks to the green canvas tarp above him. He couldn’t even see the stars. He knew they were there, though. There was something comforting about that.

He was being taken to the nearest American military base. What happened after that was anyone’s guess. Hans would be his impeccably charming and witty self, as always. He was ready for whatever lay ahead. It couldn’t possibly be worse than what he’d already endured.

Hans spent the next few months being grilled by American military intelligence. Then, finally, he was set free and spat back out into the world. Raine got all the glory, all the recognition. There would be no parades and Life magazine articles for him. He had to disappear into postwar America. Fade away into the background. He was a footnote in a government file somewhere, but that was all.

As time passed, Hans realized he didn’t want the limelight anyway. He was actually _happy_ to live out his life in obscurity. It gave him a freedom he’d never had before. He had spent his whole life taking orders from someone else. First as a soldier in the Great War, then as a detective with the Vienna police, and finally, in the SS. Now, for the first time, he had the freedom to do whatever he wanted. There was something almost magical about that. For the first time in years, he didn’t have to wear a uniform. Wearing civilian clothes was more comfortable. Freeing. Now he could finally be himself again, instead of some intimidating figure who struck fear into peoples’ hearts.

Hans led a quiet life on Nantucket Island. He moved into a small old cottage that needed minor renovation. He took regular walks in the forest and along the beach. He constantly checked out books at the local library. He was neither a recluse nor an extrovert. He got acquainted with his neighbors, some of the townspeople, and of course, the local women. If anyone asked about his scar, he explained that the nazis had marked him as a traitor. And they believed him!

  
All in all, it was not a bad life. But there was one glaring flaw, and Hans couldn’t ignore it no matter how hard he tried: he was lonely. He was no one’s lover. He was no one’s friend. There was something so _isolating_ about that. Still, he tried not to dwell on it too much. Or else he would sink into a depression that seemed to last for years.

A year passed. It was June of 1945 now, and the war in the Pacific was winding down. The days were getting warmer and brighter. Summer was almost here. At least there was a nice breeze off the ocean. It was shaping up to be another quiet Saturday, as usual. Hans sat at his kitchen table, engrossed in a newspaper, having just finished his breakfast. He wondered how much longer the war would dominate the news. Surely not much longer. It was just a matter of time now.

He was startled by a sudden knocking at the door. Hans didn’t receive many visitors, so a knock always gave him a slight jolt. But this one sounded different from the others. It wasn’t a knock as much as a harsh banging. Whoever was out there sounded ready to break the door down.

“Coming, coming!” Hans called in a singsong voice.

He went to the front door and flung it open. There, standing on his doorstep, was Aldo Raine. Hans just blinked in confusion, his racing mind barely able to process this. His mouth went dry. For an instant, he almost thought he was dreaming. But there was Raine, as clear as day, and still in uniform, no less.

“Can…Can I help you with something?” Hans slowly asked, wringing his shaking hands. He forced on a nervous smile.

“Oh, cut the crap, Landa.” Aldo muttered irritably. He shoved him aside and strode into the house.

He walked into the kitchen, looking around curiously. “Nice little place you got here.” He pronounced. “You’re doin’ pretty well for a nah-zi war criminal, ain’t you?”

“Don’t _ever_ call me that!” Hans hissed, feeling his small bit of goodwill crumble.

“Why not? ‘Cause it’s true?” Aldo scoffed.

For a moment, Hans stared down at the floor and said nothing. That stung, but he also couldn’t refute it. He exhaled shakily, met Raine’s eyes, and said: “Lieutenant Raine…I am **not** a good man. I have done many terrible things in the name of the Nazi Party. I can’t change what I’ve done. But I can at least make an _effort_ to better myself, can’t I? I have spent the last year trying to…To turn over a new leaf. Is that how that goes?”

Aldo said nothing, just nodded stiffly. He was slumped over in a chair at the table. Almost like it was his house.

“I have a quiet life. I own a small shop in town, and I spend as much time as I can outdoors. There is something very _peaceful_ about the sea- or at least, I think so. I have learned to find joy in the simple things. But I don’t suppose you care, do you?” Hans raked a hand through his hair. He began pacing the room restlessly.

He suddenly stopped walking. Looked Aldo in the eyes again. “I suppose you’ve come to kill me. Or arrest me and drag me in front of some tribunal. Is that it?” He snapped. His voice was smooth, pleasant, with only a slight hint of ice.

Aldo only chuckled and lit a cigarette. “Nah. I got no reason to kill you. I think slappin’ you with that cute little scar was plenty.”

Hans frowned in confusion. “Then why…Why are you here? I don’t understand.”

Aldo hesitated before speaking again. For a moment, he looked a little embarrassed. But the look came and went so quickly Hans was sure he imagined it.

“I wanted to check up on you, see how you were doin’.” He admitted. “I couldn’t believe the fuckin’ Jew Hunter actually settled down on Nantucket Island, in the middle of bumfuck nowhere.”

“Well, I _am_ a man of my word…” Hans interjected with a smirk. _Which is far more than I can say for you, Lieutenant…_

Aldo ignored him and continued: “I thought for sure you’d be struttin’ and paradin’ around like some goddamn war hero. But no! You’re that nice man down the street with the funny accent who don’t say much about his past. Well ain’t that a kick in the head!”

Hans smiled wanly. He busied himself with putting dirty silverware in the sink. “I am a terribly lonely man, Aldo. I have neighbors and acquaintances, but no real _friends,_ as it were. I am a well-known ladies’ man, but they always leave in the morning. I can’t exactly blame them. After all, what woman would want to be with a scarred old man?” he threw up his hands in exasperation.

The whole time Aldo listened intently, saying nothing. He took a drag on his cigarette. Exhaled. He looked at Hans with…Sympathy? Pity? Was that it? He got up from his chair and stood to face Hans.

“This shit right here, is _exactly_ why I don’t need to kill you. Or arrest you. I want to, I **want** to, but I ain’t gonna bother. You’re doin’ a fine old job punishin’ yourself, you don’t need no help from me.” Aldo gave a low chuckle and jabbed a finger at Hans’ forehead. “I’m guessin’ the ladies don’t like your little souvenir?”

Hans shook his head. “They find it rather gruesome.” He admitted.

“Yeah, I reckon they would.” Aldo said with a snort. Then his face lit up with realization, and he snapped his fingers. “Hey, could you do me a favor and put on some coffee before I head out?”

Hans sighed. “Yes, of course. You _are_ my guest, after all…” he went to the coffee pot to prepare it.

When it was done, he stiffly handed the steaming mug to Aldo, who had resumed his place at the kitchen table. Aldo grunted a “Thanks” and slowly began drinking. Hans sat down across from him.

“So, how does it feel? Seeing your greatest nemesis reduced to a lonely old man with an ugly scar?” Hans very quietly asked.

Aldo took another sip of his coffee, then flashed Hans a shit-eating grin. “It feels fuckin’ amazing.”

“Of course it does.” Hans retorted, but he didn’t dare say anything more. Antagonizing Aldo was the last thing he wanted.

Then, at last, Aldo finished his coffee and began walking to the door. But he lingered in the doorway.

“You know what?” he asked in a low voice.

“What?” Hans replied, barely able to hide his exasperation.

“You have a good life out here- I mean, as close to good as possible- ‘cause I ain’t comin’ back this way. I never thought someone as fuckin’ rotten as you could change, but now? Now I’m havin’ second thoughts. But don’t you make me change my mind…”

“Of course not!” Hans spluttered. “And…And thank you.” He managed to get out. He smiled at Aldo. A real smile.

They looked at each other for just a moment. Sizing each other up. And suddenly they weren’t enemies anymore, but equals. Just two people trying to figure out where they belonged in the world.

“Goodbye. It was real nice talkin’ with you.” Aldo said, uncharacteristically quietly.

“Auf wiedersehen.” Hans said softly. Then, he shut the door and went back inside.

He spent the rest of the day thinking about Aldo’s visit and what it meant. He was relieved the American hadn’t come to kill or arrest him, like he had feared. Aldo had been his usual macho, swaggering, self. At least, at first. But near the end, he had treated Hans almost like a friend or an equal. But _why?_ Aldo pitied him. Pitied what he had become. That was it.

But maybe there was more to it than that. Now that the war was over, well, almost over- maybe Aldo finally saw him as something other than the enemy. Hans hated being pitied, but there was something so gratifying in being seen as _human._ As an ordinary person, and not some vile, murdering, nazi scumbag. His life on Nantucket- as lonely as it often was- was still more than he deserved. What about his victims? They never got a chance to start over.

Hans tried not to dwell on that, because it was too painful to think about. But he couldn’t ignore what he had done. He would have to live with this pain for the rest of his life. He couldn’t take back his crimes, his atrocities. All he could do was try to be a better person from now on. Well, confronting his crimes was better than wallowing in denial.

Hans went out to the beach that night. He sat down on a sand dune and looked up at the stars, glittering like diamonds in the night sky. The stars looked the same here as they did in Europe. At least some things never changed. He breathed in the cool, salty, air. In the background, he could hear the distant hissing of the sea. It calmed him somewhat. He felt small and insignificant, alone on the beach, under the light of a thousand stars.

He didn’t deserve any of this. He understood why Aldo hadn't killed him when he had the chance. A bullet to the head would be quick. Over in seconds. But loneliness, remorse, and depression could eat away at him for decades, like a festering wound. Slowly dying a bit at a time. Hans had moments of real happiness, but sometimes they were far and few between.

At least he could lose himself in nature. That made the pain not so bad, if only for a little while. He was grateful for these small reprieves. As Hans sat there, alone on the sand, he wondered if his restless soul would ever be at peace.


End file.
